


Transfusion of Blood and Hope, A

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s06e03 Third Day Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-08
Updated: 2004-12-08
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: On Donna's return, she and the President find that they have gifts for each other.





	Transfusion of Blood and Hope, A

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**A Transfusion of Blood and Hope**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** Jed, Donna  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** Fanfic can contribute enormously to the identity of TV shows or movies and their characters. Even so, Aaron Sorkin and John Wells deserve the credit for creation.  
**Summary:** On Donna’s return, she and the President find that they have gifts for each other.  
**Spoiler:** "Third Day Story"  


"Donna."

She started in her chair. The voice behind her was quiet, but the office area was quiet too, this late at night.

She’d been paging through reports and files in a relaxed, almost dreamy manner. Today, her first day back on the job, her second day back in Washington, her seventh day after a close encounter with an operating theater, she naturally worked more slowly than her standard high efficiency, but not even she could feel guilty about that. She was constantly aware of every task, every move she made, no matter how simplistic or mundane. Subsumed in the comfort and normalcy of being again in this great building, warmed by the memories of friends openly delighted to see her, almost overwhelmed by just her physical ability to return.

After Gaza, after Germany, after the blast and the surgeries and the pain and the fear and the grief, after the shaky start down that long road towards full healing… she was in the one place she most wanted to be.

And in the presence of one man she had dearly wanted to see.

"Mr. President!"

He stood in the hall doorway less than four feet away.

His hands were pocketed, his head tipped towards her. He’d taken to wearing waistcoats lately; it lent him an extra formal air, so that even without a suit jacket he looked fully geared up for business. However, the pressure and energetic tension that always cloaked him, of critical deadlines and tremendous influences and gigantic responsibilities, for the moment appeared to have stopped hounding him as well.

She made a motion to rise respectfully from her chair - a motion so automatic, a respect so heartfelt, that only when the pain cried out in vociferous objection did she remember that she couldn’t rise, couldn’t even stand. That her chair had wheels.

"Don’t." His slight smile widened and his blue eyes glimmered just a bit, perhaps in honest wonder that her desire to show him that deference could make her forget her injuries for even a second. And in sorrow that she had injuries in the first place.

"I’m sorry." Why did she feel the need to apologize? Even decorum must yield to infirmity. Still, it felt totally wrong to just stay seated before him, almost an inversion of their respective social standings.

He waved away her ingrained reaction with his usual deft humor. "Actually, I’m enjoying the rare height advantage."

Despite the confusion and anxieties and chaos of this absolutely insane workday, she’d been smiling a lot ever since she arrived. This time she almost laughed aloud.

There was no one else around, save for the inevitable Secret Service agents lingering in the far reaches of the bullpen. In fact, they seemed to be guarding against intrusion more than anything else. Had they evicted all other late-night workers in order to permit this meeting?

The President should not have come to her - she should’ve gone to _him_. He had the rank and the tightly-packed schedule. All things considered, she could get around just fine; she wasn’t _that_ incapacitated. Yet here he was, sparing her the effort, for these few minutes prioritizing her above the nation.

His vision flickered, taking in the thick cast on her leg and the paleness that was obvious even to her usual alabaster complexion. And the smoothness with which she pivoted herself to face him: skills so necessarily gained, strength so recently recovered. And the pile of papers she’d been shuffling, and the office chair set aside so that her wheelchair would fit in front of her desk.

"Welcome home."

"Thank you very much, sir." Quite a few of her fellow employees had offered the same greeting, and it fit: this White House was the center of life for all of them. Coming from him who actually lived here, though, it put the final seal on her return. This was where she belonged.

She had become a member of his family.

He moved a step closer, looking - for once in her experience - a bit uneasy. "I would’ve come by earlier, but I didn’t know you’d landed."

"Perfectly understandable, sir. You’ve been busy." Between several trips to and from Bethesda Naval Hospital, opposing tax cut arguments throughout the Party, international peacekeeping coalition efforts and an unprecedented Middle East peace accord signed on the South Lawn just yesterday, that was a slight understatement. Even if she was supposed to officially report to him upon her arrival, which she wasn’t, she would have held back from adding such trivia to the colossal demands upon his time over the past thirty-six hours.

"I’ve seen Josh at least five times today since he brought you in, and he never thought to mention it himself. Having you back just makes everything…" The President fumbled for the correct description. "Right for him."

She grinned shyly. "For me, too." Already it felt as though she’d never left. Except when she noticed her cast, of course. Or tried to stand.

He nodded. "And for us." His people _were_ like a family, close-knit and mutually supportive. When something happened to one of their number, it affected everyone. "I only found out half an hour ago, when Zoey phoned upstairs."

And as a result of that phone call he’d left the Residence, after finally being free to enjoy a very well-deserved rest at the conclusion of two nightmarish days, just to see her.

Donna reddened a bit, gaining back some healthy color. "It’s kind of you to visit."

He didn’t comment, but surprise crossed his features, as though anyone could have expected otherwise of him, no matter _how_ busy he might be. He never let his title override the human equation.

Mention of Zoey reminded her of the First Daughter’s visit earlier... which led in turn to the memory of Charlie’s visit not long afterward. Donna swiftly decided not to mention here, to Charlie’s boss, that the young man was deliberately delaying his Georgetown graduation in order to stay in the White House as long as possible. Zoey was bound to mention it to her father at some point; and even if she didn’t, the President would eventually grow suspicious of a university degree taking months longer than it should. He treasured his body man’s loyalty, but he would not want Charlie to put that loyalty ahead of his own future.

Her musing ended when the President advanced another step, then - without in any way seeming awkward or uncomfortable - lowered himself to one knee. It was a courteous gesture; now they were on the same eye level. In fact, she realized with amusement, her superior height had been restored.

Said amusement faded fast. This scene tilted her entire worldview: that the President of the United States should kneel before anyone, much less her. She glanced around for a proper seat to offer him instead, but he showed no interest in getting up and fetching one, content to stay here and rest one hand on her chair’s arm and visit with her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired of sitting, more than anything else." At least it meant that she didn’t have to leap up at any of Josh’s summons. "And with all the junk food lying around here, I’m worried about gaining some serious weight by the time I can walk again…"

One executive brow flared at the lightness of her words and of her mood. Both were good health indicators in their own right.

"Josh has no business even _asking_ you to work today."

"Oh, I wanted to, sir. Really - to be here, to contribute again to this amazing place, on this amazing day…" She lifted her eyes ceilingward for a moment, searching for sufficient words. "It’s the best cure of all. And everyone’s been very sweet. Even Josh. He insisted that I lie down and rest a little while ago."

"And is he taking you home soon?"

"Yes, when he finishes up here."

"You can blame me for the delay." The President exhaled, looking more than a little guilty. "This day has been a mess from the start, and I’ve only made it worse."

She resisted the urge to tell him that wasn’t true. In all honesty, the extended absence from the White House of both its Chief Executive and its Chief of Staff had guaranteed that disorder and lack of communication would ensue.

"How’s Leo doing?" she asked softly. If anyone _really_ knew…

The reply came only after a telling pause and a visible increase in that guilt. "He’s out of the woods."

That involuntary pun, a totally innocent slip of the tongue, caused a severe presidential wince. And then, a long presidential pause. Donna held her breath. Something more was coming…

"But it’ll be weeks before he even leaves the hospital."

She choked back an exclamation of both relief and distress. Relief: that the man so instrumental in bringing them to the White House, the man who had so effectively _run_ the White House, would recover. Distress: that no matter how much they all respected Leo and just could not envision someone else ever taking his place, much less filling his shoes, there was no possible alternative but to select a new Chief of Staff. As yesterday and today had both dramatically and comically demonstrated, no administration could function for even a few hours without one.

And after all that came a stab of near-terror, that she would very shortly be helping Josh take over this vital role. Both of them were in their niches, where they worked best, which they knew so well. But he was the obvious candidate, and he’d never be able to do it without her. Could they rise to such an enormous challenge?

She didn’t voice that question. The very idea of discussing Leo’s replacement, no matter how essential, when he was barely breathing unassisted, sounded inexcusably callous - even grasping. Not one of the staff had said a single word about it in her hearing.

"At least he’ll recover," she murmured, focusing on the most important aspect of all.

"Yeah." The President bowed his head. She could see him blinking rapidly.

He blamed himself. She knew it. His friend had convinced him to run, he had offered his friend a partnership, and together they’d taken the country by storm. And six years later, after unmitigated stress and emotional hardship and more than a few physical catastrophes as well, his friend’s health had been demanded in payment.

Everyone had always figured that in such a respect the President would be first.

However, even if he wouldn’t have his wise, stalwart, brutally honest Chief of Staff any longer, he still had his friend.

Donna reached out and lightly placed her hand on the President’s sleeve, just above his hand that rested on her chair arm. He didn’t straighten, but he did nod his gratefulness for her understanding.

"Do you think Leo might be up to visitors tomorrow?" she asked quietly.

This time his head rose. "You haven’t seen him yet?"

"No; I didn’t want to add to the crowd earlier. He must be exhausted, and everyone else _needed_ to see him." She struggled to explain her thoughts. "Besides, I was afraid I might… detract from his graver circumstances. Or something."

"Or something?" Was that a hint of a smile?

"Well, I got off lighter than he did -"

"Okay, you can stop now." The President’s tone strengthened. "Both of you have paid a horrid, _personal_ price towards this peace accord and this whole Administration. It’s only by the grace of God that you’re both still alive. I utterly refuse to pretend that one sacrifice was greater than the other. _Neither_ should have happened."

This time it was he who reached out, with his free hand, and touched _her_ sleeve, mirroring her offer of support. "Donna. Josh was phoning us constantly about your condition. Every call went straight to Leo, and Leo gave every one of those reports to me. Don’t ever think that Leo or I were any less worried about you than anyone else here."

Now _she_ was blinking. How had she, a mere assistant who never worked directly with her leader or her leader’s right-hand man, managed to earn their affection?

"I’ll arrange a car to pick you up first thing tomorrow. It will do Leo a world of good to see you."

"That’s very considerate, sir."

From his expression, the President still didn’t think it was anywhere near enough to pay off what he clearly saw as his debt to her. "Just going to Gaza in the first place took a lot of courage. You could’ve turned it down, but you didn’t. And pulling through that crash took a lot of strength. We’re all very proud of you."

She had to change the topic before she broke down completely. "Well, sir, may I say that I have never been prouder of my country - or of you - than when that agreement was signed here this afternoon."

She had always been an animate person, but now her features positively glowed. "I was _there_ , on the very streets where that treaty will take effect. I met the people, spoke with the refugees who are going to benefit. They all need our help so badly. They _deserve_ it. Their suffering is terrible beyond words. And now, after all these years of conflict, you’ve given them hope. There’s just no way I can adequately express how thankful I am."

Only with difficulty did she restrain herself from heaping up more accolades. When she arrived in the Holy Land, there had been only bombs and age-old animosities and halfhearted suggestions for separating relentless combatants. When she left, there was a treaty that surpassed the most optimistic aspirations. In a way, she felt as though her President had made her a personal gift of that peace accord, just to celebrate her survival.

Her praise was embarrassing him. "This should’ve been done fifty years ago. I only regret it took so long for all of us to get our act together and work things out."

It had been a summit to defy all conventional wisdom, laced with the most fundamental differences and rattled by the most ingrained hatreds - but through one man’s perseverance and vision and compassion, it had borne fruit. It had birthed a hope for the entire world.

If the ravaged Middle East could find peace through negotiation, then no disagreement was beyond non-violent settlement.

"Sir…" Donna hesitated, not sure whether this would be politic to mention - but she had already committed herself. "Is it true that no one wanted to back your initiative?"

She’d heard that from several of her colleagues, and she’d been floored. How could they _not_ have endorsed such a selfless, merciful, humanitarian effort with all their will? Even though _they_ hadn’t stood in a war zone and seen the demolished homes, the shattered families, the children taught to hate and kill and die, how could the members of his own staff even consider opposing their leader’s plea for peace?

He actually chuckled. Now that victory had been achieved, the pain of those debates was fading fast. "Oh, everyone believed I was crazy. It’s not that they thought the goal wasn’t worthwhile; they thought it was simply unattainable. That those two sides would _never_ compromise. They wanted me to avenge our casualties through force, not diplomacy. The whole country said my wussy little olive branch effort was going to fail."

He cast an eye about at the empty office surrounding them. "And it _would_ have failed - if I hadn’t had the help of all the people in this House. They said I was wasting my time and theirs, but they followed me anyway. And they pulled it off. Their talents, their efforts, their ideas… They did more than I."

Then he refocused on her. "And it would have failed - if I hadn’t constantly reminded myself of what it had already cost us. Cost _you_ … and the others. A cost I don’t want _anyone_ to have to pay ever again."

His gaze returned to the floor; his lips tightened.

She knew he blamed himself for that as well: for sending his own people to Israel, on the advice of some experts and against the advice of others, anxious to prevent diplomatic mayhem, gambling that some form of concord might yet be obtained for a small strip of land which had known only war for generations. But as with Leo’s collapse, he was not at fault here either. Not all of them had expected the U.S. delegation to succeed in its mission, but every member of that team - herself included - had accepted the risks of disappointment and danger nonetheless. For the ideal of peace.

Of the five people in that car on that road in that distant desert country, four would never know how close the world had come to global conflagration - nor would they know about the unparalleled opportunity for reconciliation, against all odds, that their lives had bought. One man had held the power and the incentive to launch destruction in their names… and instead that man had chosen to honor their names with an _end_ to destruction. He had rejected the cry for vengeance, and persuaded bitter enemies to join him in building a bright new future together. Donna gave thanks to God on high that she had lived to witness the reality.

Had that American vehicle _not_ been targeted, would this groundbreaking progress against terrorism and savagery have ever come about?

"I wish Admiral Fitzwallace could see what you’ve accomplished."

The President turned away, blinking faster than ever. He had developed a very close friendship with his top soldier. He had personally commissioned the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to the task that killed him. No matter how beneficial this peace accord would be in days and years to come, it could not buy back the lives already lost.

Not for him. Not for the widows left behind.

Not for the Israelis. Not for the Palestinians. Not for the whole human race.

But it _could_ prevent more lives from being consumed in the same senseless fashion. It could halt the appalling cycle of violence and hate. It could forge friends out of foes. That was their legacy - and their duty - to their dead.

Donna swallowed, feeling the grief coming at her in waves.

"But I am absolutely sure of one thing, Mr. President."

Slowly, the man kneeling before her looked up.

"If the admiral could have known in advance what would transpire afterwards… what would happen at Camp David, and here… he would have gone down that road willingly."

She paused for an extra breath. Her nerve did not waver. "And so would I."

Silence. Had her conviction, so instinctive that it resisted cumbersome language, come across as a mere platitude instead? Had her declaration, no matter how true to her heart, been of any use?

Here was her answer: those blue eyes shone. She had gifted him with an element of peace that, for all his striving on the behalf of others, he had been unable to attain for himself.

Then the President of the United States rose to his feet, leaned over… and gently kissed his employee’s forehead in eloquent gratitude.

*****

"Anyone who says these jobs don’t come with a cost…"

\- C.J. Cregg

"The President declared: ‘Peace, so long within our sight, is now within our grasp.’"

\- TV commentator on the Israeli-Palestinian peace accord

"I didn’t have anything to do with the peace agreement."

"Let’s just say you were a… blood donor."

\- Donna Moss and Josh Lyman

"We came here to put the job first. To spend our lives for something that would outlast us."

\- Jed Bartlet


End file.
